


First Potions

by cincoflex



Series: Roger and Hyacinth [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, F/M, Hogwarts First Year, Potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:42:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are good at Potions; some aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Potions

So many classes, so many rooms, and no reliable map. Roger tried not to fume about that; he himself liked things a bit more orderly and expected it of the school. Renata had to keep reminding him, ‘they’ve only _rebuilt_ it in the last few years, you know. Takes a while for the Charms to settle in, De Malinbois.’

He knew that. Didn’t mean he had to _like_ it, though. 

Fortunately he had a good sense of direction, and after the first few days it was easier to get about. He, Renata Greyhill, and Boris Vronsky had met each other in the Slytherin Common Room before the first day of classes and had several of them together, which also helped. Renata was a short, intense girl with spiky red hair like flames on the top of her head. Roger liked her no-nonsense attitude and her rude jokes, along with the fact that she was as smart as she was tough.

Boris was strong and wore his straight brown hair in a long ponytail. He’d nearly gone to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, and seemed grateful for the change. Towering over both Roger and Renata, he walked with the slow power of a young bear. Boris also could eat more at a meal than _anyone_ Roger had ever seen before, which amused him, and actually frightened some of the other First Years.

“Going to try out for Keeper,” Boris told Roger and Renata as he between bites of his third plate of eggs. “Got to be large for that.”

“What will you use for a broom, a full oak tree?” Renata asked dryly.

“Better that than a palm frond like you,” he shot back good-naturedly, which made Roger laugh.

The three of them had Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology together, and shared Potions with the Hufflepuffs. Roger was pleased to catch sight of Hyacinth in the dungeon classroom, and waved to her before the start of the first class. She beamed back, just as glad apparently to see him.

“Getting on all right?” she called across the aisle while people settled into their seats.

“Good. You?” Roger wanted to know, but just then the professor came in, and a hush fell through the room. Roger leaned back into his seat and tried not to draw attention to himself, tried not to let his insecurity show. Potions worried him; he wasn’t comfortable with the process, even the little easy ones his father had already shown him at home, and the thought of trying them in front of other students and a teacher as well had him nervous.

“Good afternoon, Class. I am Professor Slughorn, and I will be showing you the intricate marvels of Potions!” the heavyset wizard in the rich emerald robes before them boomed. “Before we are done you too will come to appreciate the beauty of a well-created elixir, the power of a cunningly contrived concoction! Make no mistake; Potions are my passion, and I intend to share what I know of them with you.”

His cheerful tone helped Roger relax a bit. Things went even better when it came time to pair up and the Potions Master insisted that everyone mingle to do so. “Co-operation is the key. I appreciate House loyalty, but we are here to learn as much from each other as from our books or from me.”

“That’s a _new_ concept,” Renata murmured with a hint of sarcasm before moving to stand awkwardly near a round Hufflepuff boy with dark curly hair.

Roger didn’t care though, and motioned for Hyacinth to make her way over to him.

“Good,” he told her with relief, “Someone who knows _more_ about this class than I do.”

“Are you sure?” she grinned. 

He gave a shrug. “ _You_ were the one analyzing ice cream and anyway, you couldn’t possibly know _less_ than I do, trust me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Hyacinth warned him, and pulled out her book.

She relaxed after the first twenty minutes, feeling glad that she’d looked over the first chapter already. Hyacinth knew how lucky the class was that Professor Slughorn was still teaching this year, and that it truly would be his last one before retiring. His enthusiasm gave her confidence and she promised herself she’d try to keep ahead of the assigned work.

And there was Roger too. That was a lucky break too, she realized. Nice as Winston and Sanvy were, it was good to see someone she knew, if only slightly. Hyacinth had understood that Hogwarts would be large, and the student body equally so, but being in the reality of it was overwhelming at times. Any additional friendly faces helped.

Still, she knew she was in the right place, and practically squirmed as she waited for Slughorn to ask them to start on their first Potion.  
“A simple blend for your first attempt,” the Potions Master assured them. “A thick breath-sweetening tonic!”

Roger shot her look. _The_ look, Hyacinth was coming to recognize as his ultimate skeptic’s face. “Mouthwash,” he whispered in disbelief. “He’s making us mix mouthwash. I don’t know whether to be insulted on behalf of my intelligence or my hygiene.” 

She smothered a giggle. “Well, we have to start with _some_ thing, and even Muggles can make this, right?”

“When Muggles make it, it isn’t magic,” Roger replied dryly, but he began writing down the ingredients as the professor listed them off.

\--00oo00--

A few months later, Roger sighed. He knew there would be times when he and Hyacinth would disagree; it stood to reason given how different they were. Well reason was doing more than standing now. It was doing backflips out of the room, taking his patience with it.

And it wasn't fair. Just because she was so much better than he was at Potions! She could cut and measure the ingredients easily, without feeling anxious every time she picked up a knife. She could stir and simmer things without a sense of doom at the slightest change. She didn't panic over strange colors or smells or sounds.

All that was wonderful for her, oh yes, but Hyacinth's unfair expectation that he would love Potions as much as she did meant that her last comment really put the butter on the crumpet.

“It's just pile of Gillyweed, it's not a monster, Roger. Honestly, I wonder how you even FEED yourself during the hols. Does your mother just Apparate food into you?”

He stopped trying to sliver the wet, slimy strands and drew himself up, feeling his exasperation rise like the foam of a butterbeer. “This isn’t even _proper_ Potions,” he growled, waving the point of his knife at the gelatinous mess on the table. “This is simple preparatory drudge work that most people would have a House Elf do!”

“Certainly,” Hyacinth replied with dangerous sweetness. “IF you have the services of a House Elf, and a lack of patience. But Roger dear, all the elves here are busy enough without taking on your practical applications, and to be fair, _I’m_ doing the bulk of this particular potion as it is.”

That hurt, especially since it was true. Roger felt himself go a bit red, and noted a few other students were glancing their way. He bent back over the table and began slicing the Gillyweed again, his blade moving viciously through the gooey strands.

Because he was angry, and because he was careless, the knife slipped, shooting out of his grasp and across the cauldron towards Hyacinth, the edge of it skimming her along the top of her wrist before the blade clattered into the pot. Instantly a strand of scarlet rose on her skin and she gasped.

Roger froze for a second, horrified before pushing the table aside and moving to her. “Oh damn! ‘Cinth I’m so sorry!” He pulled his wand and ran the tip of it quickly across the cut, muttering “Episkey, Episkey!”

Instantly the cut healed, drawing the blood back in as it did so. Roger pulled her hand up to examine it, aware of how clammy her skin felt. He looked into her face, expecting fury there, aware he deserved it for his stupidity.

Instead, she was looking into the cauldron, where his knife had fallen and was now bobbing around in the thickening potion.

“Oh bother,” came Hyacinth’s grumble. “ _Now_ we’re in for it.”

Slughorn waddled over, concerned. “Are you all right, Miss Moffett?”

She nodded, still focused on the cauldron. “Yes sir; a little accident but I’m fine. However the knife . . . .”

The Potions master pulled out a handkerchief and murmured “Accio blade,” under his breath; the knife rose out of the brew and headed into his grip, handle first. With care, Slughorn wiped it clean and handed it to Roger, giving him a sharp look as he did so. “You’re not the first to have trouble with Gillyweed, although you may be the first to draw blood in the process. Have a care, Mr. De Malinbois, do.”

“Yes sir,” Roger replied, shame-faced. He waited until Slughorn moved away before turning to look at Hyacinth. She met his gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching up, her look as patient as ever.

“I am so very, _very_ sorry,” he told her quietly, aware that the students closest to them were listening in, “I--”

She waved her hand, grinning finally. “Forget it. You’re not the first person to throw a knife at me; just finish with that Gillyweed, all right?”

“Okay, yes, I’ll . . . wait, what?” Roger shot her a startled look, but Hyacinth was already focused on the cauldron again, concentrating hard.

“I think we’re going to be fine . . . Gillyweed strands, please. And that was a _joke,_ Roger, although point well made. I’ll do more of the prep from now on.”

 

Naturally the story made the rounds, and by evening _everyone_ at Hogwarts knew about the vicious vendetta that had nearly killed six people and maimed three others, of the screaming match between the blood-thirsty Slytherin and the surly Hufflepuff who’d been _forced_ to work together on an extremely dangerous poison and tried to _murder_ each other in the process.

“And who exactly _told_ you all this?” Hyacinth wanted to know as Winston wound down, his chubby face pink, his expression concerned. They were in the Hufflepuff Common room, watering the ivy pots on the windowsill.

“Well, I heard it from Arno Tröss, who heard it from Malcom Fox-Smythe, who got the story full on from that Ravenclaw girl who has the darling Myna bird who can imitate the Headmistress,” Winton admitted. “She claims the ghost who was in the classroom saw it _all_.”

“What ghost—you mean that git of a poltergeist who rubs bogies on the bathroom mirrors? Bosh! He wasn’t even _there_!” Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “Honestly, it was just an accident; Roger’s knife slipped and that’s all there was to it.”

“You’re sure?” Winston asked earnestly, and Hyacinth gave him a nod.

“Positive. Professor Slughorn was right there; we finished the tonic and both got pretty high marks for it.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Winston sighed, “Although I’d watch my back around any Slytherins if I were you, ‘Cinth.”

She shot him a hard look. “What a thing to say! Don’t tell me you’re one of those with a grudge from the Battle days, are you? Because we’re _done_ being friends if you are, Winston Patrick! It’s a vile, stupid misbelief to paint every Slytherin as a bad’un, and I won’t have it!”

To his credit, Winston went very pink in the face. “Maybe not,” he muttered, “but my family lost two cousins defending this school, all right?”

Hyacinth froze for a moment, aware of the way Winston was twisting the end of his sleeve, of the stiffness in his jaw. Lightly, she reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Oy, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know.”

He sighed. “It’s all right. My mum . . . she goes on and on about it. Didn’t even want me to come here. Never thought I’d be saying her words but there you go. I know it was Death Eaters that did the killing, and them that followed the Dark Lord, but the way my mum talks you’d think every Slytherin was in on it. Inside I know that’s not true, but it’s hard to think straight when . . . you get scared.”

She gave an understanding nod. “Yeah. But Roger—you _know_ he’s not evil. When that knife slipped, he was a lot more upset than _I_ was.”

Winston raised his head and gave a little chuckle. “I can see that,” he admitted, “That boy gets upset when we have to uproot the baby mandrakes, so yes, De Malinbois’ not particularly ruthless. Rootless maybe, but not ruthless.”

Hyacinth laughed, and rubbed Winston’s arm once again. “Yes, exactly. And thanks for being concerned for me. I do appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well the thing is, Hufflepuffs care about each other,” Winston replied with a smile, and went to refill the watering can.


End file.
